The Shades of Pemberley
by notsodelicious
Summary: Another sequel to Jane Austen's beloved 'Pride and Prejudice'. Canon (follows Book/BBC adaptation). Warning: some chapters will have mature content, but I will try my best to make it tasteful.
1. Preface

Why hello here, I am back after two years of absence. In my defense, those past two years have only served to remind me of how much I love to write, especially _anything_ that isn't academic.

As some of you may have noticed, I have taken down my previous P&P variation/sequel/call-it-as-you-will, 'The Shades of Pemberley', because, lo and behold, a few things have changed since then.

The main thing being that my allegiances have shifted. If you read the first three chapters of 'The Shades of Pemberley' then you know that I used to be a 2005 movie adaptation fan. Yep, it took only one look at Colin Firth and **that** look (if you know you know) to convince me otherwise, and I have been utterly obsessed with the 1995 BBC version since then. So you may imagine the delightful Jennifer Ehle as Elizabeth Bennett/Darcy as well, because Lord I love her.

Consequently, I was no longer satisfied with my portrayal of Jane Austen's lovebirds, and decided to delete the story altogether. I hope you will forgive me and give this one a try.

Before diving in, I'd like to say a few things:

1\. I wish I lived in the Regency Era but sadly, I do not, so I apologize in advance for any inaccuracies in spelling/names/phrases. I am sure some of you are better versed in this than I am, so any suggestions are welcome, as long as they are polite of course.

2\. This story will follow the mai lines of the book, obviously (canon writer here), but is based on the 1995 adaptation because that's that.

3\. I am now a fervent believer that Colin Firth = Mr. Darcy, so my own rendition of the character is based on his own masterful performance. Same goes for Elizabeth.

4\. I still have a very stressful three weeks incoming so I cannot make any promises as to the regularity of the uploads, but I will, for once, try to complete a story. I've never done a big project like that before, especially tackling such a classic, so bear with me.

5\. English is NOT my first language, so be nice!

That's all folks! Enjoy and let me know what you think :)


	2. Chapter 1: To Pemberley

_Hello again, you're probably tired of me already but hi anyways. This is more of an introductory chapter, to show what I imagine the dynamics of Mr. and Mrs. Darcy must have been like._

_At this point I also don't know where the hell I'm going with this story because I can't plan for the life of me so, **welp**. *insert the I don't care emoji here*_

_Anyways, enjoy! Let's see how fast I can get the next chapter up, ladies and gents, place your bets._

_xx_

* * *

Elizabeth Darcy was not certain what to expect of her second visit to Pemberley, this time with a fully _and_ formally attired Mr. Darcy sitting by her side in the carriage, his arm safely entwined with hers. She was sure, however, that those longing looks he regularly bestowed upon her were going to drive her to distraction.

For that very reason, Elizabeth decided to avert her eyes away from his entirely too handsome physiognomy, and endeavored to appear fascinated with the tall beech trees bordering the estate. Somewhat wistfully, she remembered the day when the Gardiners and herself had journeyed to Pemberley during the summer, wholly unsuspecting that the day itself would be of any great significance.

Glancing at the fine figure of her husband beside her, she realized just how fortunate she was. How fortunate they _both_ were.

Sensing Elizabeth's look on him, Fitzwilliam Darcy felt a grin tug at the corners of his lips. He was both anticipating and nervous to give her his personally guided tour of the whole estate. Although perhaps, for today at least, he would have to content himself with showing her the parts of the house that would be most relevant to her new role as Pemberley's mistress. But he longed to show her _his_ Pemberley. The home he had grown up in, seen many happy and sad days in, and was always loathe to leave.

Over the past month they had spent in Bath, he had discovered the many joys of becoming a husband. Most particularly, Elizabeth's. For, if society considered a bride to be the propriety of her husband, he saw himself as _hers_, and hers alone. And he found it quite exhilarating.

"You should smile more often, Fitzwilliam, it does suit you rather a lot." The sweet voice of his wife brought him back to the present moment. He smiled even wider.

"Elizabeth, I believe I have never smiled more than I have these past weeks. My cheeks hurt from the strain of it."

Amused by his answer, she decided to indulge herself. "Ah, but you see, I do so love to see you smile that the well-being of your cheeks had until then escaped me." She reached up to caress his jaw, aware of the small breath he drew in as her gloved hand slid over his skin.

Sagely, Mr. Darcy did not reciprocate the gesture, for they had by then come very close to the house, and, he thought, it would not do to have its new mistress unable to meet its rather large staff. He sighed. His wife's inviting eyes, tender smiles and alluring figure had been the greatest challenge he had ever been made to face, partly because of the havock they wrecked upon his resolve.

She was temptation incarnate, yet she did not even know it. She knew of his passion for her, and he knew of hers, but intimacy in town was rarely… well, intimate. As such, he had been unable to fully show her the extent of his devotion to her person. A wrong he intended to right as soon as possible. Hopefully, tonight.

The carriage pulled to a stop, the doors opened to reveal the front doors of Pemberley. Elizabeth visibly faltered when beholding the utterly indecent amount of servants she would have to remember the names of. She had never been very good with names, she thought, and she hoped they'd forgive her for muddling theirs.

At the front of the line stood Mrs. Reynolds. Thankful to see a familiar and friendly face, Elizabeth smiled at her, and was surprised to see her smile returned tenfold. The housekeeper's warm words assured her of her happiness at seeing Pemberley graced with a mistress once again. Elizabeth glanced up at her husband, as if to ascertain that he too was pleased, and not saddened by the replacing of a mother he had loved, and dearly missed. His countenance only betrayed his joy, and he gently spurred her on to meet the rest of the staff.

By the end of the line, standing in front of Pemberley's butler, Mr. Jones, Elizabeth was almost breathless. She had been most particularly interested in conversing, even if briefly, with those who would attend her daily. Her maid, Miss Andrews, was a shy but sweet creature, not much younger than Elizabeth herself. The housemaids were too many to faithfully recount, but she was taken in by their youth and eagerness to please her. Some were quite young indeed, others looked as if they had longed to have a mistress to defer too once more. The footmen, most older and experienced, looked placidly inquisitive, but no more, and she decided that she had kept them out of doors long enough. The winter was not mild and she herself was eager to be warm.

"Ma'am, if you please, there is a fire lit in the small drawing room, and a small tray of refreshments has already been sent for."

Smiling at Mrs. Reynolds, the Darcys gladly took off their travelling outer clothes and made their way to the aforementioned small drawing room. Which was anything, _but_ small. Mr. Darcy, sensing her amusement, chuckled and offered his arm. She delivered as flat a stare as she could muster given her own cheerfulness, and accepted his offer of a cup of tea.

"Are you able to tour the house today, darling, or would you rather wait until tomorrow?" He asked, knowing fully what sort of answer to expect.

"I am perfectly _able_, thank you, Fitzwilliam. But I would not mind resting for a while first. I have rarely travelled as much as we have in the past few days, as my muscles are actively reminding me." She massaged the small of her back as she spoke, caught his tender gaze, and briefly wondered if she should attempt to steal a kiss, before a maid entered carrying a tray of light food.

Both were hungry and wasted no time in honoring Cook's little refinements, allowing themselves to savor the feeling of being home again. In Darcy's case, he knew he was home; he felt it in his bones. But he very much wished for Elizabeth to feel at home here, with him. As he sat eating his toast, he wondered at what they should do first.

The grounds would have to wait until later, the weather was inclement, and his business equally so. He had been loathe to attend to his correspondence when enjoying every moment of his honeymoon, but he knew that he had to redirect his focus to managing Pemberley. Especially since the winter looked to be very cold, and harsh weather meant that his tenants would face discomforts that were his duty to soothe.

As her husband broodingly thought of estate business, Elizabeth pondered over the size of the house, how many rooms there were, and tried to guess how many times she would get lost. The thought drew a chuckle from her, bringing Mr. Darcy's attention back to her.

"What amuses you, my love?"

She smiled at the endearment. She had declared it to be one of her favorites, one night when he had let his control slip a little more than usual, and he had disdained most others since.

"I was only thinking of how many times you will have to go around the house in an attempt to find your lost wife, and since that will likely be many, I hope you are prepared."

"I happen to be very fond of my wife, and would hate to lose her, so you may rest assured that I am." Was his cheeky, but loving, answer.

"Well then, husband mine, it is about time you took me on that guided tour of yours. Then I may ascertain more fully the extent of my predicament."

Mr. Darcy laughed at that, and, standing up, offered his arm to her once again, deciding that it would be better if he lost himself alongside her, just this once.

* * *

_Hello, thx, bye_

_xx_


	3. Chapter 2: An Intimate Tour

_I bet you guys are surprised to see me here again so soon. I mean it's barely been a day since my last post, that's got to be a record. I hope you placed your bets accordingly._

_This one is a slow burn, but I did my best to keep it tasteful, steamy and sweet all at the same time. It's my own idea of how ahem... a personally guided tour of Pemberley by Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy might have culminated. If you're not a fan of lemony stuff, beware!_

_**Disclaimer** (which I forgot before, oops): I own none of the characters hereunder, and Jane Austen would in fact probably have my hide if she knew what I made her characters get up to. I have no regrets._

xx

* * *

Elizabeth remembered a few things from her first tour of Pemberley, but her subsequent meeting with Mr. Darcy had rendered her memory of all that came previously more than a little blurry. She was glad to have another opportunity of exploring the great house; especially now that it was to be her home.

She knew it was most unusual for the upper class to which her husband belonged to remove to the country during the first weeks of the season. However, after a month in Bath, she could hardly protest when her husband tentatively spoke of journeying directly to Pemberley. She had enjoyed enough of the _beau monde_ society during their engagement, when her mother, Jane and herself went to London to accompany their intended. Both Fitzwilliam and herself felt the need to escape the gossips.

Elizabeth was even more glad of this choice now, for it looked like snow, and she hoped to wake up to a thick white blanket coating the grounds.

"This was my mother's favourite room. She would enjoy the quiet time away from my boisterous self to write her letters here every morning." Mr. Darcy's voice brought her back to the present time.

Amused, Elizabeth could not resist adding. "Mrs. Reynolds said as much when the Gardiners and I visited last summer." As she spoke, she noticed his lopsided smile faltering a little. "Are you displeased that she did?"

"No, my love."

"Then what is it?"

He hesitated, before saying. "Mrs. Reynolds was very fond of my mother. I do so hope she will grow just as fond of you." His tone betrayed of his regard and affection for the housekeeper. Elizabeth briefly wondered at what sort of stories she could extract from Mrs. Reynolds about the 'boisterous' youth of her husband.

"I have no doubt that Mrs. Reynolds and I will get along perfectly well, Fitzwilliam. You need not worry."

"I see what you're thinking, you know? You are devising all sorts of schemes to learn what an utter disaster of a teenager I was." His grin was back, teasing her into denying what must be so evidently displayed on her face. "I will save you the trouble, you may ask me whatever you want to know, and I shall do my best to entertain you."

Elizabeth laughed warmly. He had read her easily, as he almost always did. She gently ran her hand up the arm through which hers was looped, before taking the lead and entering the music room. The grand pianoforte was still standing where it had been when last she was there, but Georgiana's portrait was gone. _Probably_ _hung up in the gallery already_, she thought.

She led Fitzwilliam up the staircase, her willing husband watching her with a delighted expression on his face. He had never imagined he could be so very happy; so fortunate as to have not only found a woman to love, but to have her love him in return. He had not let on, but he had been quite nervous at the prospect of introducing Pemberley to Elizabeth.

He knew she approved of it, for she had said as much during her first visit. But to have her approve of it as its _mistress_ was an entirely different affair. He also knew that it would sometimes be hard for him to relinquish some of the duties he had naturally assumed in the absence of a hostess, and with a sister too young to fill in that role, but he would do his best.

He briefly thought of Georgiana, who was to join them in a few days. He had wished to have her removed from London as soon as the season commenced, but she had asked to be allowed to return to town before leaving for Pemberley. No doubt to say her goodbyes to those friends who would be staying on during the winter. He had every faith in Mrs. Annesley and knew Georgiana to be in good hands. Nevertheless, he would be glad to have his family under the same roof.

He gazed softly at his wife, her rapid footsteps threading lightly upon the carpeted floor, her eyes curious and wandering over the succession of portraits hanging around them. Gently, he stopped her in front of two large portraits, of a man and a woman, and watched as understanding dawned upon her. He himself looked up in the kind brown eyes of his father, studying the beloved face as he so often had in the past.

He had miniatures of both his parents, but he found that the gallery portraits gave them back all of their presence. A presence that he very much wished he still had. Refusing to allow the sadness to gain a hold over him, he lowered his eyes, only to find Elizabeth's fastened on him. She smiled up at him, reaching up to smooth his curls back into place.

"I would have loved to meet them." She said this very softly, aware of the pain she might be causing him.

And he did feel pain, but he also felt pride (the kind she would have approved of). He was proud that, if only in portrait, she had been able to ascertain his parents' kindness and intelligence.

Looking up, he tried to imagine them though her eyes. His father's brow, permanently furrowed, no doubt reminded her of his own; so did his brown eyes, so similar to his own. He had his mother's curls and the typical Fitzwilliam imposing height. In that, Lady Anne and her husband had always been an impressive couple: matched in gentleness, fierceness, pride, resolve and… well, stature. He also saw discernment in the way they calmly looked back at him. Lady Anne's brown eyes gazing much in the same way they had done when she was alive, with affection and concern for her only son. His father's eyes leveled their knowing look on him, as if to say: "Well, William, you _have_ met your match after all."

He had.

"Are you alright, my love?" Elizabeth's hand pried his eyes away from his parents, stroking the side of his face lovingly. He caught her wrist and placed a kiss there, not fully trusting his voice to give her any other form of confirmation.

Never before, not even on his wedding night, or on the long cold ones he had spent wondering if she would ever love him, had he more fiercely wished for his mother and father to be there.

Sighing, he walked on, reclaiming his right as guide, and took her small hand in his, resuming his tour. From the gallery, the corridor led to the more private rooms. The master and mistress chambers stood at its far end, the only ones in that wing of the house.

Mr. Darcy had taken care of arranging the mistress' chamber as well as a man could with knowing little of the taste of his lady regarding decoration matters. As he opened the door to the room, he explained that he had wanted to leave the task to her.

Elizabeth looked around the room in awe. To say that it was grand was a euphemism. It was luxurious. The most noticeable item was without a doubt the large canopy bed, with blue draperies tied to the four posters. She reached out to touch the fabric softly, and found it as soft as she had expected it to be. It was so luxuriant, it was almost indecent.

She caught her husband's gaze on her as she absentmindedly ran her fingers over the fabric, and, judging by how his eyes had darkened, thought it best to leave her inspection of the bed to a more appropriate time.

Hiding her blush - just how he could fluster her with only one look, she would never understand - she instead directed her attention to the other elements of the room.

She could see what he meant when he said he had thought it best to leave decoration matters to her. The furniture was as sumptuous as she imagined Lady Anne Darcy must have herself been; not extravagant but definitely… opulent. At the same time, she did not yet feel quite at ease enough, as mistress of Pemberley, to ask for these changes immediately. Perhaps she would grow to love the enormous sofa and ostentatious rugs as much as her predecessor.

Noticing the door, most likely leading to her Mr. Darcy's chambers, she pondered over her next move. She did not want to appear intruding, yet her curiosity was urging her to open the door and peek inside.

She could not have known it, engaged as she was by her analysis of her surroundings, but Mr. Darcy's eyes never left her. He tried both to assess her feelings, and to keep himself in check, all too aware was he of standing in her chambers.

Oh, they had savoured what it meant to be husband and wife in Bath already, but he longed to make her the true mistress of Pemberley at last. He fleetingly wondered if Mrs. Reynolds and Cook would consider it an impertinence if they missed dinner.

It must be said, in defense of Mr. Darcy's musings, that his wife was in fact wearing a gown he most particularly loved. It was one of white muslim, with small orange flowers embroidered over the bodice. It did not help his situation that it was cut just low enough to offer him a tantalizing view of her bosom - just enough that he desired more.

Ah, and there was, of course, the matter of her delightful neck, presently craned at just the right angle so he could admire the soft skin beneath her ear.

Mr. Darcy had discovered, much to his pleasure, that his wife absolutely loved to have him kiss her there.

He marveled at his own lust, mentally admonishing himself. It must also be said here that he had every intention of leading her out of the mistress' chambers into the gallery, until he noticed her gaze fixed on the door adjoining his chambers to hers.

Lord have mercy on him, if Elizabeth did open that door, he wasn't sure what he would do.

That it would be most improper, he had no doubt. Most delectable as well, in fact.

She must have been thinking the exact same thing because she determinedly grasped the handle and looked back at him.

_Was he dreaming or were her eyes a few shades darker? _

She entered the room - _his_ room - and let her eyes wander over the elegant furniture, taking in what she had always imagined would be Mr. Darcy's quarters. A large desk, of course, by the window. Bookshelves standing proud, displaying generations of books. A large fireplace facing an equally large bed.

She was not sure if it was merely a trick of her imagination, but it looked a lot more imposing than the one in the adjoining chamber. The dark mahogany wood and luscious draperies lent it a sensual look, leaving her slightly breathless.

She half turned around, thinking of how she could busy herself by investigating the view from the window, when she felt her husband's hands on her waist.

_So much for the view._

His hands travelled up her sides, teasing her through the fabric of her dress. She felt his breath on her neck, his lips dangerously close to that spot he loved to torture with his kisses, right beneath her ear.

He nuzzled it first, smiling when she gasped. She let her head rest on his shoulder, allowing him to kiss and nudge his way down to her collarbone. Both were silent, save for their breathing. Mr. Darcy was entertaining several creative ways of eliciting that sweet gasp of hers again when she very obligingly indulged him by seeking out his lips.

He sighed against her, happy to finally share their very first kiss here, in his childhood home. She kissed him tenderly, but it soon grew more heated, and, sure enough, here was the gasp again as his hands brushed against her neck.

His hands caressed their way down her neck towards the hem of her dress, resulting in little goosebumps appearing underneath his fingers. He longed to kiss them all away. Slowly, he drew the sleeve of her dress down her shoulder, baring more skin to his gaze. His hands had by now found the objects of his desire, tenderly caressing them until he successfully drew a moan out of her.

Elizabeth was finding herself feeling quite wanton, and yet could not bring herself to care. His touch was simply too divine to resist. Her other sleeve was promptly discarded, left to hang around her shoulder as his lips explored every inch of her offered skin.

He turned her around in one swift motion, attacking her neck and jaw with more fervent kisses, nibbling here and there, his hands still busying themselves at her breasts. She pushed into his his touch, burying her nose in his unruly curls.

He smelled of a melange of dust and sunshine, a strange mix for one travelling in the winter. She inhaled his scent more deeply, quite astonished at how it made her weak in the knees.

Mr. Darcy was thoroughly enjoying himself, his nose against the pulse of Elizabeth's heartbeat, sensing how it quickened with every swirl of his thumbs. Her scent, fresh and warm, filled his senses. He pushed against her, eliciting the kind of moan he had only ever heard when nighttime had fallen.

The reality of what they were doing, where, and _when_ made him smile. This was exactly what he had hoped for when he had taken her on his tour of the house.

He barely registered her back hitting the wall, but what he did register was her hands sliding up his chest and then down, unbuttoning his waistcoat. As she pressed herself against him, it was his turn to bite back a moan.

Dear Lord that woman would be the end of him.

His lips went back to her neck, feverish, urging her on. She was still shy, still new to the joys of married life, but she was also passionate and curious, a very potent mix that never ceased to surprise him. Her deft little fingers made quick work of his waistcoat and cravat, leaving more skin for _her_ to explore.

When he felt her lips on his neck, he all but failed to suppress his whimper of pleasure. She smiled against his skin, still bewildered at how much she could make him feel with just that one touch.

Elizabeth had discovered that her husband's sweet spot was his earlobe, and made it her mission to draw another groan of need out of him before she went on to find his lips.

Mr. Darcy pressed himself flush against her, too aroused to even think of the bed standing a mere two feet away from them. He ran his hand up her leg, lifting it to rest on his hip. The angle made them both gasp. Elizabeth, desperate to tame that irritable itch that only he could soothe, rocked her hips into his. He sucked in a breath and quickly unbuttoned his breeches.

His lips never left hers and both took in a moment to appreciate the moment when he joined them together. Elizabeth sighed into his mouth, an offering he gratefully accepted. As he began moving into her, her hands gripped his neck a little tighter, holding herself fast against him.

Attempting to muffle his own pleasure in her neck, Fitzwilliam bit down, feeling his own paroxysm coming in, but intent on taking her there first. He could feel her moan frantically against his hair, her hands roaming his chest beneath his shirt.

He drew her over the edge with one kiss to that spot beneath her ear, moaning her name as his pleasure finally claimed him.

He was sure that had to be the best welcome home he had ever received, and fervently hoped for all following ones to be as delicious.

* * *

_You're welcome._

_xx_


	4. Chapter 3: Arrivals

_Hello dear readers! First off, thank you very much for all your reviews, even if I cannot answer to yours (or if I have forgotten), just know that I really appreciate them._

_Here is the next installment of my story, where I wanted to start introducing my own characters, whose purpose to this story I'm just myself beginning to grasp. I tried my best to pick historically accurate names but I also had a wee bit of fun (because why not). Again, if you see any inaccuracies (such as phrasing, name, address) let me know! I try to do some research but I still have one more week of intense uni work before I'm on holidays, so I can't put as much time in this story as I would like, yet._

_That's all from me, folks, enjoy!_

_xx_

_**Disclaimer**: Apart from my own additions to the story, all original P&P characters still belong to Jane Austen, public domain or not._

* * *

Mr. Darcy could not remember ever being so happy.

Even as he poured over estate business, his mind focused on the task, he could discern the small spark of warmth that had permanently settled at the pit of his stomach. It was resting, for now, but he knew that just one moment in the company of his lovely wife would awaken it.

He was sometimes afraid of the intensity with which he loved Elizabeth. It was precisely that which had led him to scorn her, to his dreadful pretence of disdain - with remarkable success, it might be added.

Her aversion had almost equaled his passion, both of them safely ensconced behind the screen of their respective faults.

His had been pride, hers, prejudice.

His pride weighed in the equation still, but it was no longer the kind that she would have abhorred, for he simply felt proud to be hers. Most men would have boasted of finally claiming her; would have professed high and low that they had secured the lady's affections when she had so vehemently proclaimed to despise them.

His pride rested in the secure knowledge that he had of his devotion to her, and in the fact that he had learnt a very valuable lesson from her. He would never again deem those socially beneath him unworthy of his trust and affection.

What Mrs. Reynolds had revealed of her master on that fateful day in May was true: any of his tenants or servants would have said that a better master never was, for he had always made sure to be an attentive landlord.

But it took five years and a good dressing down for him to realize that, save for Mrs. Reynolds and Mr. Jones, who had seen him born, he knew very little of those working in his service. All others he had known had left or passed on.

As Mr. Darcy busied himself with his thoughts - which she would have deemed 'remarkably self-aware' - Elizabeth busied herself with organizing her rather enormous bookshelf.

They had been at Pemberley for a little over two weeks, during which her husband had shown her what parts of the grounds were accessible, given the snowy weather; but also other parts of the house.

She was very happy with herself for refusing most of his advances during that third, more extensive, tour of her new home. Indeed, she had kept him wanting her so that the night that followed told her that the experiment should _definitely_ be repeated.

Elizabeth darted her eyes back and forth between the bookshelf and the piles of books at her feet. Fitzwilliam had told her, even before they were married, that she was more than welcome to buy, read and hoard as many books as she wanted.

Having seen the size of the Pemberley library, Elizabeth had teased him that if there ever was a book hoarder, it was he. Her father had then decided to challenge his future son-in-law as to exactly how many books each could possibly finish in the span of half a year.

She had been pleased when the cordiality between the two most important men in her life had developed into genuine affection.

"Mistress, if you please, Miss Darcy's carriage has just come into the drive." Mrs. Reynolds' voice brought Elizabeth away from her thoughts.

Still somewhat uncomfortable with her new title, Elizabeth answered with a warm, if shy "Thank you, Mrs. Reynolds, I shall be downstairs directly."

As she made for the entrance hall, Elizabeth remembered that Georgiana was arriving with company, as her husband had told her a few nights ago.

"_My love, it seems that we will have more company than I anticipated. I received an express from Georgiana. She asks if we would be agreeable to receiving Mr. and Mrs. Lockhart, a couple of our acquaintance, who would be travelling from London with her. Would you mind?"_

_She had been taken by surprise, thinking that surely nobody would descend on Pemberley so soon after their return from Bath. But Fitzwilliam seemed to think highly of the Lockharts, so she saw no issue with the plan. _

"_It is only two people, Fitzwilliam, I shall be very happy to attend them. Who are they exactly?"_

"_Mr. Phineas Lockhart was friend of my grandfather, and later, my father. They frequented the same club, when my father was so inclined as to visit London."_

_He had stopped, going over the missive once again._

"_I am glad they are to visit, although I would have wished for a more opportune time so I could have you to myself a little longer." He had smiled then, that small grin that he had given her on numerous occasions when he was amused. _

"_I daresay you will find Mrs. Lockhart every bit the gentlewoman of the Ton, but neither her nor her husband come from the landed gentry. They do not have our arrogance… I hope you are not too disappointed?"_

_She rolled her eyes at him, pulling on his shirt to tug him back down towards her. _

"_Be quiet and kiss me."_

No, she would not have minded having her Fitzwilliam all to herself for a little longer either, but was determined to do well.

He had spoken warmly of them, and her experience told her that the Lockharts must indeed be people worth knowing if the Darcy family had seen fit to nurture the acquaintance for so long.

* * *

Miss Georgiana Darcy nearly hopped out of the carriage, so happy was she to finally be home.

She had not seen Elizabeth and her brother since their wedding more than a month and a half ago, and was eager to be with them once again.

_And_, she had brought company. She was rather pleased with herself in mustering the courage to ask her brother if she could forward an invitation to Pemberley to their family friends, Mr. and Mrs. Lockhart.

They had been regular callers in town, and she had wanted to show them the same courtesy. She knew that Mr. Lockhart longed to see Pemberley again, after so many years away in London.

Georgiana bounced off the ladder of the carriage directly into her brother's waiting arms. He kissed her forehead, happy to have her home at last.

"Welcome home, dear sister. I trust your journey was not too inconvenient? I had made sure that the roads of the estate would be clear before I even received word of your coming so soon."

His meaning was not lost on her.

He was happy to see her, but his lopsided smile and slightly annoyed brow told her the rest: _I will make sure to return in kind when you are married and wish for time alone with your husband, little sister, never fear_.

Georgiana was sure he would, but she simply did not care. All that mattered was that she was now free to embrace Elizabeth, and call her sister once again, as she had done the day her brother and her had wed.

She ignored Fitzwilliam's remark, choosing to address her sister instead. "Elizabeth, how delighted I am to see you! I was hoping my brother would not hide you away from the rest of the world for too long. I have missed your singing and playing dreadfully!"

Elizabeth laughed heartily at that, "Georgiana, you have only heard me play but once, and I am sure that it was no great performance on my part."

Mr. Darcy wholeheartedly disagreed with that. From his point of view, it had been a most _thrilling_ performance.

"Oh no, you played beautifully!"

Darcy chuckled, turning towards their guests, Elizabeth arm around his, intent on introducing his wife to them. "Mr. and Mrs. Phineas Lockhart, may I introduce my wife, Elizabeth Darcy."

The broad grin on their faces told of their happiness at seeing Fitzwilliam thus ensnared - for it was clear that he was. They could not remember a time when the young gentleman had looked at anyone in the way he looked at her; or how she summoned his smile, or a gleam in his eyes that they had never been privy to, with hardly so much as a word.

Mr. Phineas Lockhart was a tall elderly man. Elizabeth judged that he must be in his seventh decade. His attire was modest, but not quite humble - _a gentleman, that she already knew, but perhaps a tradesman as well? _He was very amiable, his kind blue eyes reminding her of her father's.

Mrs. Lockhart, whose name was Emily, was small of stature, attired in a similarly modest fashion, but her presence of character and manners, like her husband, betrayed her genteel birth.

She inquired after Mrs. Darcy's happiness at Pemberley, stating that she was herself eager to know more about the person who had trapped young Fitzwilliam's heart. Both Elizabeth and her husband blushed, and the latter briefly wondered if the happiness he had felt earlier in the morning was truly _that_ obvious.

Judging by his sister's smug expression, it was.

Elizabeth led their guests to the small parlor, where the ever thoughtful Mrs. Reynolds had already had refreshments brought up.

"Mrs. Darcy, you must tell us now how you find Pemberley? I speak for both of us when I say that we regretted being unable to attend your wedding, but my health, I am afraid, was too poor at the time." Mrs. Lockhart said, gratefully taking the cup of tea offered by Georgiana.

"Oh, I approve of Pemberley very much, Mrs. Lockhart, but I doubt few could find fault in it. It is such a handsome estate."

Mr. Darcy, from his customary post by the window, smiled to himself, recognizing her private teasing.

"Indeed, it is. I remember many a fine day there in the times of your grandfather, Fitzwilliam, but also of your father. It was such a terrible drudge getting either of them to leave Pemberley for town."

"I am afraid Fitzwilliam is a true Darcy, in this instance, Mrs. Lockhart."

"You misrepresent me, Elizabeth, I have spent the largest amount of time of three consecutive generations in town."

"Aye, young man, but university is hardly an excuse, seeing that you are not the first to invoke it as pretext for having graced London with your presence, never to return. Your father used much the same." Mr. Lockhart interjected in his deep voice, his mirth apparent. "Although, now that you are married, you will do well, I fear, to avoid town for a little while, until the gentlefolk finds another source of gossip."

"I believe _I_ was the source of all the gossip, Mr. Lockhart." Elizabeth said, "Do not take that pleasure away from me, Sir, for I enjoyed it tremendously." Now that was a blatant lie and all in the party knew it and laughed at her reply.

"You are very generous, Mrs. Darcy, to allow the _beau monde_ to bully you so, but if it suits you, I shall say no more of it." He made as if to seal his lips, in a gesture so familiar that it immediately made Elizabeth feel at ease with the old gentleman.

He did remind her more and more of her father, and she realized a little wistfully that she missed him more than she had let on.

"Oh, believe me, Phineas, I think _Elizabeth_ enjoys bullying the gentry, more than they even realize, which says a lot because they hardly ever seem to realize that anything at all is going on."

The whole party laughed heartily at Fitzwilliam's sarcastic remark, especially Elizabeth, all too aware of the truth of his analysis of her character.

* * *

"So, what did you think of Mr. and Mrs. Lockhart?" Fitzwilliam asked as soon as they had retired.

He slipped into the fresh sheets with a groan of appreciation. She climbed in next to him, drawing her shawl tight around her.

The fire was roaring, but she felt herself shiver again, although whether from the light touch of his fingers along her thigh or the whistles of the wind outside, she could not tell.

"I like them very much. Mr. Lockhart reminds me rather a lot of my father, do you not think so?"

He appeared thoughtful for a moment, before saying, "Yes, although I think in my case, I felt the reverse when I first got the chance to converse with your father."

Elizabeth hesitated before asking, "Fitzwilliam, how old exactly are they? I guessed Mr. Lockhart to be about five-and-sixty, since he knew your grandfather?"

"I believe Mrs. Lockhart is nearer that age than he. He is as old as my grandfather would be now, should he still be alive. Around two-and-seventy, or something like that."

"That is indeed strange that they should travel this far in such weather!"

"Yes, it is. Especially considering the fact that we would have returned to London sooner or later to escort Georgiana to her first season, and I would have introduced you then."

He had that inquisitive look of his, and Elizabeth knew he was going to get Mr. Lockhart to talk. She would try to do the same with Mrs. Lockhart, who seemed amiable enough, though not as outspoken or warm as her husband. She hoped that, whatever had taken them from town was not of ill nature.

She was taken from her reflections by her husband's hands gently prying away her shawl from her shoulders, caressing the soft skin beneath her dressing gown.

"But for now, you're still all mine to enjoy, my love." He said as his lips found hers.

She was only too happy to oblige him.

* * *

_I'll see you (hopefully) next week for the next chapter! There may be a lemon or two incoming as well, because I know the lot of you love it as much as I do, hehehe._

_xx_


	5. Chapter 4: Of Guests and Lights

_Hello again, dear readers! Guess what, I am finally free of school work, so I will have more time to dedicate to this story. I make no promises as to the frequency of the uploads however, as I may need that time to set my plot a bit more firmly, and write some chapters in advance. But only time will tell._

_I hope you will enjoy this chapter, I loved writing it. I believe all our winter guests have arrived for the festive season at Pemberley, and Elizabeth is playing hostess. I tried to include both description and dialogue in greater mesure, but it's up to you guys to tell me what you prefer. I always feel more comfortable in a descriptive style, but I'm willing to get out of my comfort zone should it please you._

_Once again, thanks for all the reviews, and check out some commentaries at the end as well!_

_**Disclaimer**: all characters and settings, except those conjured by my own weird imagination, are Jane Austen's property._

_xx_

* * *

Christmas at Pemberley promised to be a much grander affair than either Darcy or Elizabeth had anticipated. The Lockharts had been staying for nigh on two weeks now, trapped by the snow and the agreeable company. Elizabeth's sister, Jane, and her husband Mr. Bingley, were now on their way to Pemberley. With them came Kitty, the fourth Bennett sister, and Bingley's sister Caroline. The Hursts had decided to stay in town, not daring to brave the northern weather. Mr. Bennett had answered that, whilst he loved his daughter dearly, that was altogether too many people to expose to Mrs. Bennett's nerves. He promised to come in the spring.

It was to be Elizabeth's first Christmas by Darcy's side, and her first as mistress of the great house. She had proved a dutiful hostess to Mr. and Mrs. Lockhart during their stay, and was comforted by the knowledge that the party which was to assemble at Pemberley would regroup some of her dearest relations.

With the possible exception of Caroline Bingley.

Thus it was one afternoon in mid-December that Mr. and Mrs. Bingley arrived at Pemberley, having braved the icy roads to spend Christmas and the New Year with their family. To Elizabeth's great surprise, they came not only with Kitty and Miss Bingley, but also with two gentlemen, a Mr. Beaumont and a Mr. Moore.

Mr. Beaumont was a tall, dark haired and reserved man, the opposite of his friend and associate Mr. Moore, who was everything jovial and simple.* Amused, Elizabeth immediately compared the two gentlemen to her husband and Mr. Bingley, and the impressions they had both made at that first ball at the Meryton assembly.

Mr. Beaumont, upon being introduced, smiled little, but sincerely, and offered his congratulations on their recent marriage. Moore happily provided what his friend lacked in conversation by asking Mr. Darcy about Pemberley, a sure way to gain her husband's interest.

"How long has the estate been in your family, Mr. Darcy, if you do not mind my asking?"

"As far as I know, the earliest Darcy - probably know as D'arcy, then - lived in the 14th century. We know little of him, apart from the fact that he purchased the land, and called the estate he had built D'arcy House, or Darcy House, if you will. The ruins of the old house are not far from here, behind the wood. You might have seen it in passing."

"Ah, yes indeed. Quite the house that must have been... Pray, who chose to move the house to this location instead?"

"My great-great-grandfather, I believe, somewhere in the late 17th century. D'arcy House was built too close to the river for his taste, and was very nearly flooded one year early on in his youth. As soon as he was able, he had Pemberley built."

"Interesting. And how did the name Pemberley come about?"

Elizabeth smiled at Mr. Moore's steady questioning. The man appeared absolutely fascinated.

"That, I could not tell you. I may have to lock myself in the library to unearth those documents, and my wife would surely disapprove of my lack of interest in homely festivities." Darcy said, only half jokingly.

"Oh, I would disapprove, but I cannot say that I would be surprised."

* * *

Once she was assured that her guests were comfortably installed, Elizabeth sought out her husband, who, in all likelihood, was safely tucked away in his study. Tea time had come and gone, and he had excused himself to attend to some pressing business matters.

Fooling everyone else was easy; fooling _her_, much less so.

And so, predictably, she found him sitting at his desk, his nose buried in a book that decidedly did not look like anything even remotely approaching estate business.

"I thought I would find you in your books. Has the interrogation of our newly arrived gentleman already disinclined you to socialize?"

He looked up, raising his small smile at her, revealing those dimples she loved. Carefully marking the page, he stood up and embraced her, resting his chin on the top of her curls. Even before she asked, Elizabeth knew she was correct: her husband had never liked company, except the one he chose. Whilst he was happy to see Pemberley at full potential again, socializing wore him down. Elizabeth had soothed much of his awkwardness and irritability, but he was still the same man who did not particularly care for dancing or dinners. It was a shame, she thought, because it kept others from witnessing the man who hid behind the stern and reserved mask of Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy. On the other hand, she felt all the more privileged to be one of the very few who truly knew and loved him.

"I think Mr. Moore was genuinely interested in Pemberley. Perhaps he is looking to buy an estate of his own?"

"Perhaps you are right, my darling." The deep grumble of his voice resonated in his chest. "And I did not mind his interrogation, as you call it, but I am still the same gruff old man you married."

"Fitzwilliam, you are only old when it suits your purpose - to run from social calls as a cat runs from water. Eight-and-twenty years on this earth has indeed rendered you quite gruff, but I find that, upon much closer inspection, I rather like it."

"Whilst I am not entirely certain that I like being likened to a feline, I will accept your compliment."

"Would you rather I compared your unsuccessful attempt at running from your peers to the way a chicken runs from the axe at the first whiff of Christmas? Because _that_ would surely be a lot less graceful, and quite a fair bit louder."

Darcy laughed throatily at that, forever enchanted by the little jabs his wife devised in that quick mind of hers.

"Aye, and you have seen a lot of chickens running from the butcher to recognize the sound?"

"I am an expert at sneaking out of the house when told to stay in. In that particular instance, I dearly wish I had done as I was told." Elizabeth also remembered that she had soon after stopped feeding the little chicks when they hatched, all too aware of their ghastly end. She had given much thought to the fact that their end, was, in fact, her very own stomach, and promptly decided that the less she knew of how they arrived there, the better. The task was handed over to Kitty and Lydia, who had delighted in it, and judiciously ignored all of its implications.

"What do you think of Mr. Beaumont? His name sounds French, which would undoubtedly scream the word "gentry" to me, but it does not look like it."

"No, indeed, I had never before heard of either gentlemen. I mean to ask Bingley more about them, for they seem to be good friends of his. Yet, he did not meet them at Cambridge, or I would have known."

"Business, perhaps."

Darcy nodded absentmindedly, running his hands up and down her back. It was at that moment that a soft knock disturbed the lovers' privacy. Summoning the caller in, Darcy found Mr. Bingley standing behind the door, looking a little sheepish.

"Bingley? Whatever is the matter?"

Mr. Bingley glanced fleetingly at his sister-in-law, communicating that whatever he was about to say was a matter he wished Darcy only to hear. Placing a light peck on her husband's cheek, Elizabeth made her way out of the room, in search of her sister.

She had inquiries to make as well.

* * *

"Jane, may I come in?"

Her sister had required time to rest and change out of her travelling attire, so Elizabeth wanted to make sure she was welcome before inviting herself in. Ordinarily, she would not have thought twice about it, but her sister's quiet demeanor in the parlor earlier, and their newly acquired status as married women called for more circumspect intrusions. It was something both sisters had come to accept over the months of their courtship; their loyalties, whilst still true to one another, had changed. Everything shared between them that could be of importance to their husbands, unless expressly requested otherwise, would from now on be shared with them as well.

As she expected, she found Jane sitting by the window, looking tired but happy. _Perhaps her introspection during tea came from traveling thirty miles with Caroline Bingley and Kitty for sole company_, Elizabeth jokingly thought.

"My dear, dear sister, how glad I am to see you! I am sorry if I was poor company this afternoon, I am afraid traveling left me more tired than it should have." She blushed, and added, "I also wondered at your surprise at the coming of Mr. Beaumont and Mr. Moore. Did you not receive my express in which I informed you of their accompanying us?"

Elizabeth said that she had not.

"Oh, it is no matter, but I hope it has not given you undue worry. That is precisely what I wished to avoid, but neither Charles nor I wanted to part with them quite yet." When Elizabeth brushed aside the apology, Jane added, in a more conspiratorial manner, "Especially Charles. I am afraid that he longed for some male company, despite his assuring me the contrary. He really is too considerate, sometimes."

"My dear Jane, let it be known that a gentleman can _never_ be too considerate."

"Oh, Lizzie, I have missed you so, and yet it has barely been two months since we parted!" Jane embraced her, smiling in her knowing way when she noticed her sister's curious eyes on her. "I assume you must have questions regarding the two gentlemen?"

"Indeed. Do they not remind you of our husbands when we first met them? I think Mr. Beaumont makes a rather admirable Mr. Darcy at his best: reserved, cold, but endeavoring to be somewhat civil when called upon to be so by his own conscience." Jane laughed at her sister's mockery.

"Lizzie, do not be so severe! The last time you based your opinions of a man on your first meeting with him, it did not serve you well! Mr. Beaumont is quite charming once you get to know him a little better. As for Mr. Moore, he is ever as you saw him then: happy of and about everything."

"Is he looking to buy an estate of his own, perchance?"

"I do not believe so, why do you ask? Is it because of his asking after Pemberley? He is always like that, interested in anything that might make good conversation possible. I believe he struck right with Mr. Darcy?"

"Indeed, he did!" Elizabeth laughed, remembering the look of surprise of her husband's face.

"He is something of a historian, or so he says. He has great interest in the history of the landed gentry, and is quite knowledgeable on the subject. When he learnt we were to travel to Pemberley, the domain of Mr. Darcy, which he said was unknown to him, he was exceedingly excited to learn more of a family he had not had the pleasure to study before."

"I am not certain how those endeavors will fare with my husband. The idea of someone investigating his family's past might prompt him to return to those manners I have tried so hard to mitigate."

Both sisters laughed, happy to be in each other's company once again.

* * *

Dinner was a pleasant affair, if one did not listen too closely in the general direction of Miss Bingley, who wasted not time in criticizing Elizabeth's running of her house. However, since Mrs. Darcy was universally deemed charming and an excellent hostess by all amongst the party, nobody cared much for what she had to say.

Mr. Beaumont, as Elizabeth had predicted, stayed quiet for much of the meal. He reminded her so much of her Fitzwilliam that she found it almost impossible to dislike him. Briefly, she wondered at such a reversal of her opinions; how manners that had disgusted her so only a year ago now charmed her, she was quite lost to understand.

She tried her hardest, what with him being sat on her left - Kitty was on her right, next to Jane - to draw him in gently. But he was simply of a taciturn disposition, if not unkind, that she wisely decided to leave him alone and focused instead on her younger sister.

"How do you find Pemberley, Kitty? Would it meet all of Mama's expectations, do you think?"

Her sister looked a little frightened in such superior company, particularly of Mr. Beaumont, who reminded her too much of Mr. Darcy for her liking. She was remarkably quiet and well-behaved throughout the evening, too shy to make any remark. _Lydia's absence from Longbourne has some benefits_, Elizabeth thought. She noticed briefly that Georgiana, sitting next to her brother, was much the same, and decided that she would sit both young ladies next to her tomorrow evening. Her husband was hardly a vector for easy conversation, which did nothing to help Georgiana's natural shyness.

"It is beautiful, Lizzie! I believe Mama would be ecstatic if you were to invite her in the Spring! I heard Father mention something of the scheme over dinner, I believe."

"Indeed, he promised to visit then, and will likely bring all of you along with him. I shall be glad to have you all here."

And she said the truth. Whilst she had never been close to her younger sisters, judging them too silly, too alike their mother, she found that Kitty's character could benefit from staying away from the family estate. If Jane and her kept a close eye on her, perhaps Kitty's chances in this world, despite Lydia's efforts to tarnish them, would look a little brighter.

"I would like that actually, you cannot know how boring and dreary Meryton is now that Lydia, Jane and you left! There is hardly anything at all happening, and even our visits to our Aunt Philips do not bring much news, if any."

Elizabeth was privately thinking that visits to their Aunt Philips had never truly been of any great significance, when Mr. Beaumont surprised her by asking whether she was a native of Hertfordshire, in the South. He himself, apparently, had some acquaintances in Watford. That was as much as he said during the entire evening.

Mr. Moore, on the other hand, was every bit the conversationalist. He listened to Jane, in front of whom he was sitting, and even to Miss Bingley. Elizabeth and Darcy, whilst remaining attentive hosts, said little but listened much.

They learnt that Moore and Beaumont had met abroad in Spain, and had decided to join trade businesses together. They were self-made tradesmen men, not landed gentry, as Darcy had suspected, and had much to talk of with Mr. Lockhart, whose experience in business was extensive.

Or at least, Mr. Moore had much to talk of, for Mr. Beaumont had much listening to do.

Elizabeth regretted her aunt and uncle Gardiners' absence. She was sure her uncle would have loved to take part in such a conversation. Mr. Gardiner's business had boomed after his nieces' advantageous marriages, and it would not have been prudent to remove to Pemberley for the winter, especially with that weather complicating travels to and fro London, in case any pressing matters should arise. Her aunt had promised to come next year, and Elizabeth very much hoped they should also come during the summer. Mr. Gardiner's fishing appetites would surely be satisfied at Pemberley, and her little cousins would enjoy running around the grounds.

Yes, it was decided, she would invite the Gardiners over the summer, and, hopefully, by next winter, her uncle's business would have settled down a little, allowing them to partake in Pemberley's festive mood.

* * *

The following morning, Elizabeth awoke early. Her husband laid sleeping next to her, and did not stir as she donned her dressing gown. Judging by the lack of light outside, it was no later than six in the morning, and, save the servants, she must be the first soul awake in the house.

She kissed his brow softly, careful not to wake him, and passed into her dressing chamber, summoning her maid, Miss Andrews. As Elizabeth had first observed during her introduction to the staff, she was a quiet, but sweet girl of around eighteen. It had taken Elizabeth a little coaxing to draw her out, but she was now easier in her mistress' company, chatting with her as the morning light dawned.

"I heard from Cook that we have two additional gentlemen in the Christmas party this year, Ma'am?"

Elizabeth had been spectacularly introspective the previous evening, and had not discussed the dinner with her maid. There were times when she could not yet bring herself to share details with her, not because of her station in life which was below her own, but because Elizabeth was naturally a private person. Her thoughts were her own, unless she imparted them on Jane and, now, her husband. She was still acclimating to having other people interested in her daily life; and, as integral part of the big house, most of the staff was in fact _very_ interested.

"Yes, indeed. Quite the interesting pair: one has all the conversation, the other all the introspection that usually make up one honest tradesman."

"Are they amiable, then? Were they pleased with Pemberley?"

Miss Andrews had worked here for most of her life; her mother was Georgiana's maid, and her father, the under-butler. Mr. and Mrs. Andrews took their work very seriously and had made sure to teach their two children, Thomas and Julia, everything about serving the Darcys. They were some of the few remaining servants who had been working at Pemberley for generations, and took great pride in the estate, and 'their' family.

As such, when there was need of a new maid for the new Mrs. Darcy, Julia Andrews had been Mr. Darcy's natural choice. He knew very little of these things, but Georgiana had assured him that there was not a more deserving person. Julia and her were around the same age, and remembered playing together as children. Georgiana had a deep affection for Mrs. Andrews and naturally wished for Elizabeth to experience the same thing.

"Oh, I believe they were, Julia. Although, it is quite difficult to tell whether Mr. Beaumont is pleased with anything at all, but Mr. Moore appeared very interested in the history of the Darcy family."

"Will the master like the idea, Ma'am?"

Elizabeth laughed heartily, causing the young girl to blush, her sweet face breaking into a smile.

"You may depend on his _not_ liking it, but he will do as he is told, and I have already told him that, as a good host, he could hardly refuse his guest's harmless fancy. Perhaps they will uncover something interesting, who knows?"

"Indeed, I never knew you could have such an interest in the past. After all, it _is_ the past, and what is done is done."

"Ah yes, Julia, but we may yet need to learn from it."

* * *

The day came and went in an uncharacteristically slow manner. It was not snowing, yet most of the ladies agreed that it was too cold to take out the ledge, and decided to stay inside. Elizabeth, ever the gracious hostess, was therefore stuck inside until three in the afternoon, when she decided to go on a walk by herself, leaving her guests to their own devices.

She donned her snow boots, and outfitted herself warmly, ready to brave the cold and enjoy the last rays of sunlight.

The snow cracked under her as she walked briskly towards the West, where most of the sunlight still was, her mind set on walking to Darcy House, not beyond. Her husband's ancestor had been wise indeed: Pemberley was situated atop a hill, safe from the river's tricks, overlooking dense woods. Darcy House had been built on the other side of the wood, accessible by a large road, which Elizabeth threaded through.

The trees' towering trunks swayed in the slight breeze, their shadows basked in the golden light of the setting sun. Elizabeth was a fast walker, and Darcy House was soon in full view, its imposing ruins adding a somewhat spectral element to the snowy landscape.

As she came closer, Elizabeth was just starting to feel the effects of the biting cold, when she stopped dead in her tracks.

There, ensconced in the shadows of the ruins, was a small light, flickering behind one of the dirt covered windows.

* * *

_* I tried to pick Regency-accurate names, and I was careful not to associate them with any of the landed gentry. Perhaps, in a later story, or if I decide to rewrite that one one day, I will undertake a more historically advanced research into my characters' names, but for now, I am just having fun. If you are yourself a Jane Austen writer, I can recommend you two websites which are truly helpful in finding suitable names for your OCs: the first one is a blogpost called "Master List of British Names From the Nineteenth Century" made by Bryn Donovan; and the second is a research blog called "Landed Families of Britain and Ireland."_

_I try, as always, to remain as faithful to the time and place as possible, but comments are always welcome, since I do not doubt many of you will have more knowledge of it than I do! Bear in mind I am also still beginning this story, setting the plot myself, and I may need to adjust the timeline at some later point. And if any of you detect any influence from Downton Abbey, especially in the relationships between above and below stairs, you are absolutely correct._

_Ah, and I am by no means an expert in English geography, so, yea, sorry about any mistakes you might find. Please point them out, if possible with alternatives. Any of you knows anything about Regency snow boots? Or if snow boots even existed? I personally think the idea of a determined Elizabeth walking around in snow boots to get her exercise in is adorbs._

_I hope you liked this chapter, and it will give you something to wonder over until the next one. We're getting into it guys, hehe ..._

_xx_

_**PS**: yes, yes, I know, I promised some lemons, but as Lord Fallon so deftly said in Harlots: "anticipation is half the pleasure" my friends, so bear with it. Also, if you haven't watched Harlots, yet, I literally don't know what to say to you._


	6. Chapter 5: Fears and Passions

_I bet you did not expect the next chapter so quickly. To be honest, neither did I, but it seemed to write itself and I wasn't about to question that._

_This installment contains a M-rated scene, as well as a more scary/frightening one right off the bat, just so you know. Writing sinister stuff is a lot more fun than I thought and there will definitely be more of it, and also a lot more pronounced, this is just foreboding of the story itself._

_This is probably my last chapter before Christmas, but who knows, Santa might come around bearing a couple gifts? :)_

_Enjox_

_xx_

_**Disclaimer**: all characters, except my own, belong to Jane Austen._

* * *

Darcy House must have been quite the imposing mansion in its glory days. Although it was much smaller than Pemberley, and in an advanced state of ruin, it still retained a shadow of its past presence.

The tall walls facing eastward were still largely intact, but the western portion of the house had sustained quite a lot of damage. The windows of the upper storey were shattered, ivy had grown over the stone and torn down chunks of the walls, effectively blocking the old entryway. The shadowy pits created by the fall of the facade lent Darcy House an eerily jagged appearance. What with the setting sun blazing a trail of lanky shadows towards her, Elizabeth felt all the weight of such a mysterious place.

The light was still shining in one of the eastern windows.

This part of the house, however, still displayed proud standing windows, and the ivy that had caused such damage on the other side, lent it a beautiful pictoresque look. But the dust and dirt covering the windows, akin to the glassy eyes of a blind mendicant she had once encountered on another of her walks in Hertfordshire, did nothing to quiet her pounding heart.

She edged slowly closer to the house, careful to keep her steps quiet by walking under the snow rather than over it, shooting snowflakes in the air as she kicked up on a determined march towards the ruins.

Just as it had come, the light went out. Suddenly and briskly, the wind picked up, howling in the trees. The sun had by then nearly fully set behind the hills, and Elizabeth, not wishing to worry her guests by her prolonged absence, made to turn back towards Pemberley.

At this very moment, she felt as surely as someone in full possession of their rational mind could the chilling intensity of a sinister gaze on her neck. She whirled around, her heart beating wildly, but found the scenery as empty as it had been.

It took her a few moments to regain her senses, and even more to gather the courage to turn her back to the old mansion again. She walked faster than she had before, casting a wary eye on the darkening woods, half expecting some fantastic creature to emerge from its shadows.

The sensation of being watched was still there, and it followed her as she walked on. A loud crack behind her made her start, and she nearly fell. Here, true fear replaced wariness, and it took all she had not to break into a run. Instead she valiantly pursued her route until, finally, the lights of the great house appeared behind the curtain of leafless branches.

She had heard that highwaymen sometimes lost themselves in deep woods. The biting cold and dreary landscapes provided the perfect setting for brutal ambushes brought on by hunger and resentment to those who lived safely tucked away from want.

The crack was there again, much closer, and still she kept going, shivering more from fear than from cold, although her face was numb and her throat burning under the short breaths of cold air she inhaled.

Whatever was following her was stalking her, of that she was sure, but she had no intention of finding out _what_ exactly it was. Tales of night creatures arose from a corner of her mind; tales she had never before believed in, but were now made all the more realistic in her predicament.

Elizabeth forced herself to rationalize and keep a cool head. The strangeness of the situation likely made her mind run aghast with bleak images of wolves and goblins, when in reality, it was probably a poor fox stalking an unsuspecting rabbit.

She wholeheartedly empathized with the rabbit.

As Pemberley drew nearer, she was panting, her cheeks flushed from her hasty retreat, and her eyes brightened by the cold air. She could discern amidst the prickly tears summoned by the chill, the form of her husband watching at the window. His tall figure was tense, probably anxiously waiting for any sign of her.

The mysterious stalker forgotten, Elizabeth made a beeline for the door, which was opened by Mrs. Reynolds herself, her obvious state of worry causing Elizabeth a little shame. Hastily, she reassured the housekeeper, saying she had just lost track of time during her walk, and that all was well. To explain her flushed appearance, she said that the cold had induced her to walk fast, hence why she was so breathless, and once she had fully grasped how late it was, had only walked faster.

It was at the end of that agitated speech that Darcy walked straight into the parlor, eyes blazing, although with anger or worry, she knew not. Mrs. Reynolds, sensing a rift on the horizon, wisely left the stand-off zone and headed back towards the entrance, reassuring Mrs. Bingley and ignoring Miss Bingley's disobliging remarks on Mrs. Darcy's lack of better judgement.

For once, both Darcy and Elizabeth agreed with her, and Miss Bingley would have been horrified if she had known that her shrewdness was the means of dodging an argument.

As it were, Darcy's eyes visibly softened, his ire, born out of fear, extinguished when he noticed the obvious distress of his beloved. Her cheeks were flushed, her breathing rapid, and her eyes bright, shining with the last remnants of her terror.

Immediately, he moved to embrace her, shielding her from whatever it was that had frightened her in the safety of his arms. Elizabeth breathed out calmly for the first time in over half an hour, nuzzling against his chest as she felt his arms tighten around her.

"Where were you?" His voice was strained as he attempted to calm himself. His tone must have been somewhat curt, for his wife replied in a similarly abrupt manner:

"As I told Mrs. Reynolds, I was out on a walk. I was walking through the woods when a noise behind me scared me, and my imagination, which as you are well aware, knows no bounds, conjectured tales best not repeated to our pastor."

Sensing his worry, she ran her hands up and down his arms soothingly.

"Truly, I am well, Fitzwilliam, do not fret. It was only a scare, and I can now laugh at my own folly."

That was not entirely true. She had not told him of the light in the window at Darcy House, unsure now on whether this too had been a product of her imagination, brought on by the strangeness of her surroundings.

He looked straight into her eyes, his muteness alarming. Elizabeth supposed there was nothing to say, other than a reprimand for walking so far at such a late hour, which, surprisingly, he still had not uttered.

"Fitzwilliam?"

Still no answer.

"My love, now you are frightening me."

That seemed to do the the trick. His arms wrapped around her once again, holding her to him as his lips skimmed her jaw, placing whispery kisses on her throat. Surprised by this display of passion, Elizabeth threaded her fingers through his curls in a soothing gesture, letting him nibble down her neck, until he finally settled on her pulse, kissing it softly.

"_You_ frightened _me_. Where in the deuce were you, Elizabeth? The sun had already set when I went to find your sister, who told me you'd gone out an hour past, and still had not come back. Do you have any notion of how worried I was?"

She raised her hands in a placating manner, pushing slightly away from him. Or, rather, _tried_ to push away from him, but he stronger, and kept a firm hold on his escape artist of a wife.

"I did, I _do_! Now, my love, it is past, and all is well. All I can offer is an apology for losing track of time and causing you worry." Elizabeth caressed the side of his face lovingly, letting her palm rest against his cheek. "I am well," she breathed, before his lips captured hers in a searing kiss.

_He must truly love me a lot for such a trifling thing as a late evening walk to affect him so much_, she thought sarcastically, before the feeling of his mouth against her neck caused her to forget everything else.

He peppered her neck in kisses, this time more fervent than before, and his hands promptly discarded the coat she had forgotten to take off. His next impediment were the intricate fastenings of her gown, at which point he all but growled low in his throat at the rudeness of those pesky buttons keeping his touch away from _his_ wife.

Limp in his arms, Elizabeth bit her lips in an effort to keep her moans from escaping, and reveal to the house just what exactly the master and mistress of Pemberley were doing, at five in the afternoon, right there in the parlor.

It was all very exciting, if she did say so herself.

Darcy had by now decided that corsets truly were the most abhorrent of nuisances, his fingers, although well versed in the art of taking his wife's clothes off of her voluptuous person, shaking against the laces.

It must be said that, if the great Fitzwilliam Darcy was so enraptured, it was because he had quite simply _forgotten_ where they were currently located. It had, as he would say later, escaped his notice that there was in fact no bed, no canopy curtains, and not the even the remotest bit of privacy.

He also added, in a touching moment of honesty, that he did not give a damn.

His Elizabeth was far too delicious to resist, and his recent worry only served to heighten his desire. He wanted her and he needed her, and, unless he was severely mistaken, the noises she tried so hard to hide meant that she felt much the same.

_Worry not, my love, I shall take care of that_, he thought as he smiled to himself.

In a flurry, he was gone from her arms, locked the door, flashed her his knee-weakening smile, before lifting her off her feet and into his arms. As she locked her legs around his waist, both could feel how completely aroused the other was.

At the feel of her, Darcy let out a deep moan, the heat and scent of her a dizzying spell.

Good Lord, he had to have her _now_.

He set her down on the window sill, drew the curtains in one swift motion so that the twilight world outside would never be the wiser, and never knew what he had intended to do next because then, _Lord help him_, she took things in hand.

Quite literally.

A low, guttural moan escaped him, which she swallowed right in time. He pressed against her touch, utterly beside himself with lust.

She had never been so bold before, had always let him take control.

Elizabeth herself seemed to have difficulty understanding how they had come to this very compromising situation, and the blazing fire that shot through her as she registered just _where_ she was sitting, and _what_ she was doing, was entirely too much to bear.

She took one long, hot look at her husband, finding him, eyes half-closed under the mounting pressure, coming undone beneath her touch.

Her hands were cold, but it only fueled his fire. He pushed them away, nearly whimpering, and made her his.

Her fingers tangled in his curls, and she bit down on his shoulder, keeping her scream of pleasure inside her, despite the almost physical pain that came with remaining quiet. Nothing but the roaring of the fire, their erratic breathing and occasional moans could be heard in the small parlor.

Darcy's pace quickened, nearly frantic with a need neither of them had known before. His undoing came first, with one sole glance at his wife parted lips, red from his kisses, and her white breasts heaving against his palms. His lips crashed against hers, noses crushing against cheeks, moans trapped in their throats.

As he struggled to regain his composure, she started to shake with uncontrollable laughter. Surprised, he looked at her, and she said:

"If that's what it takes to have my very controlled husband lose himself, I think I will be taking a lot more evening walks."

* * *

The morning saw Mr. and Mrs. Darcy entangled in their bedsheets, after a night started at five o'clock the previous afternoon, in the small parlor of Pemberley house. If the furniture could talk, the chandeliers would certainly be gossiping about the unsuspecting passion residing deep inside their master.

Said master himself, in fact, knew not how to react.

Yes, he had made love to his wife against a wall before, but that had been in the relative privacy of their _chambers_. And yes, he had taken great pleasure in completing that task. But nothing, _nothing_, had compared to what had transpired between them yesterday. It had given way to a night filled with soft touches, and passionate embraces; to ardent raptures behind the safety of her blue canopied bed, and flashes of bright stars behind his eyelids as pleasure claimed him repeatedly.

He was, in short, spent. Spent, thoroughly embarrassed, yet, simultaneously, absolutely starved for more of her.

He could not bring himself to regret losing control so effortlessly. He had been worried, she had been scared, and their love had been their natural shelter from both those emotions.

Darcy dearly hoped that only the chandeliers had witnessed their passionate encounter, yet Mrs. Reynolds smug side glance as he met her in the hallway told him that she, at least, if not the whole household, knew _exactly_ what had happened.

And that, contrary to what the little housemaid, Héloïse, had innocently whispered, it had nothing to do with "talking through their argument" and everything to do with drawing a certain pair of curtains rather prematurely and emerging from the parlor looking rather satisfied.

Mr. Darcy was sure that he had flushed scarlet when he crossed the housekeeper's eyes, but retained his dignity by flying down the stairs to breakfast.

He was absolutely ravenous.

* * *

Elizabeth awoke in a very contented state, stretching out under the warmth of the blankets, inhaling her husband's scent next to her. He was already up, so she wasted no time in preparing herself before getting down for breakfast.

None of the guests made any remarks at dinner, seemingly understanding that something had happened yesterday evening which prompted their hosts to retire early, but entirely off the mark as to the _why_.

That was exactly what Elizabeth was reminiscing over during her morning meal. Jane was still tired, and made no attempt at conversation, so her sister had ample time to review the previous afternoon.

Has she seen that light in the window? And if yes, what was it doing there? Surely nobody could live in the abandoned house? Or had it been a reflect of the setting sun on a window plane?

She knew that there was only one way to ascertain the matter, but the memory of the dread that had followed, when she was so sure something or someone was following her, was too fresh. She decided that if she was to go back there in the evening, she would not go on her own, and she still refused to tell Fitzwilliam.

He was a dear man, but had a tendency to charge into action. The arrival of Colonel Fitzwilliam this afternoon would do nothing to help, and whatever shard of mystery there was would be blown to ashes.

No, she would go back to Darcy House, but she knew not with whom. She could ask Julia to come with her, but did not want to frighten the poor girl. And Jane seemed too out of sorts, and would, in any case, never condone such peculiar curiosity.

Noticing her sister's quiet mien, she resolved to ask her if all was well when the opportunity next arose, but she had matters to tend to first. Christmas was fast approaching, with only a few days before the feast she and Cook had devised, and there were still issues to solve.

And it probably involved stubborn chickens.

* * *

Colonel Fitzwilliam arrived in the early afternoon, his cheerfulness a blatant clash with Darcy and Beaumont's aloofness. Elizabeth had to own that her husband had truly made an effort to appear more at ease in society. He had, in fact, almost succeeded in warding off Kitty's last remnants of wariness regarding his person. She no longer seemed afraid of him, and had even learnt to _smile_ at him. A true achievement.

Mr. Moore was deep in study of some dusty manuscript or other in the library, and was not to be lured outside, so the members of the party agreeable to it decided to take out the sledge and wander around the grounds whilst the sun shone high in the sky.

Elizabeth was, of course, of the party, all too happy to escape outside after hours spent at her desk and in the drawing room. Jane was sitting next to her, their gentlemen across from them, engaged in lively conversation. She took up the opportunity to speak with her sister.

"Jane, you have not been yourself since you arrived. I attributed it to tiredness after traveling all the way from Netherfield, but you have not changed. Has something happened?"

Her sister looked back at her husband, saw that he was adequately distracted and decided to confide what she had been suspecting for a few days now.

"Lizzie, I… I do not want to say anything in case I am wrong but… I may be... " She blushed, glanced back at Charles, and whispered, "with child."

It took everything Elizabeth had not to exclaim over the news. By her sister's behavior she had caught on that Charles was not in the confidence, and yet, Jane seemed so certain.

"Truly? But how… we have barely been married over two months or so!" She exclaimed, careful not to draw the gentlemen's attention.

"Exactly why I do not want to make anything out of it. But Lizzie, I have been feeling tired, sometimes unwell in the mornings for the past week or so… And…" She blushed again, brighter, "my last courses go back to nearly three weeks before our wedding. Surely I am not in the wrong to hope? Surely they should have come by now?"

Indeed, Elizabeth could not fault that judgement. Three weeks! Jane was above seven weeks late, when she had always been as regular as the moon.

"I will not pipe a word to anyone, but we should have the doctor come and confirm it promptly. Then you may announce the news at Christmas or New Year's Eve!"

"That would indeed be quite a surprise! Oh, Lizzie, I never imagined that it could happen so… so quickly! I always saw myself as a mother, and I will be happy if it is to be, but it is all so fast that I am unsure how to feel at all!"

So, here was the cause of her sister's introspection.

"You said it yourself: happiness. You and Charles will make wonderful parents, Jane!"

"So will you and your Fitzwilliam," Jane winked at her, causing Lizzie to flush scarlet, thinking of their activities of the previous afternoon.

"I am sure I shall be happy when it comes, but for now, I am perfectly content being an aunt."

* * *

Evening came, and with it, a certain disquiet. The house was quiet, the guests, tense, and only when dinner was served did the atmosphere seem to loosen. On this 23rd of December, Christmas was in the air, and, below stairs, the servants were busy planning for the next day.

It was a tradition at Pemberley for the staff to have a free day either on the 24th or the 25th, to their convenance. This year, Mrs. Reynolds and Mr. Jones, the butler, had decided that it would be the 24th, as long as each and everyone was home for dinner time, to be here on hand.

However, the 25th was also to be a rather quiet day, as guests arose after a long night of happiness and toasts. The most important of which being Mr. and Mrs. Bingley's announcement that they were indeed expecting the birth of their first child for the upcoming summer.

Doctor Parks had been summoned, and had confirmed Jane's pregnancy, congratulating her on identifying the first signs so swiftly. He asked after which doctor she would see once back at Netherfield, and upon knowing that she had not yet made her choice, recommended one of his peers residing nearby.

Mr. Bingley was overjoyed, and Jane positively basked in his happiness, her doubts cast aside.

All was well at Pemberley, the strange light in the window of Darcy House momentarily forgotten amidst the joyful atmosphere.

* * *

_Sooo first of all, yes I had fully intended for this chapter to further the plot, but then took a last minute 180° turn and decided that I would focus on furthering relationships instead *ahem*_

_We're all thots for some Darcy/Emizabeth smut, and I regret nothing._

_I hope you liked this chapter! I know Jane's pregnancy seems to be coming on really fast, but I just always imagined her as a mother, a lot more than Elizabeth, hence why it will take a lot longer for our lovebirds to create a nest; but I'm a hopeless romantic so you know what to expect._

_Merry Christmas everyone, and may your festivities be less charged with mystery than Lizzie's (or more, whatever floats your boat really...)!_

_**A/N 26th December 2019**_

_Hi everyone! I've changed up the timeline a bit, to make Jane's pregnancy fit in better, as one lovely reviewer remarked. So you'd have to imagine that the double-wedding took place in early November (idk if there's snow in Hertsfordshire then but we'll say that there was in the 19th century...), then our newlyweds spent a whole month enjoying matrimonial bliss in Bath and Scotland, before coming back to Pemberley and Netherfield in early December. Two weeks go by before the guests start to arrive, and here we are now, at their first Christmas. I hope it makes sense._

_Hope you all had a wonderful time celebrating the holidays, whatever you celebrate, with your loved ones!_

_xx_


	7. Chapter 6: Darcy House by Moonlight

_Hello! Here is the next chapter of my story. This one focuses a lot on Darcy House, because I truly wanted to explore what it would feel like to walk through its halls, knowing that it had been abandoned for so many years. It's the feeling I get when I walk in old French castles and such: sadness, and also a little fear. This was amplified for Elizabeth and Julia, given the setting and time (who wants to be in the woods at night, seriously? Brrr.)_

_I'm hoping to get another two chapters out this week, at least, but I won't make any promises. I hope this gives you something to chew on. I know the intrigue has not been fully set yet, but I'm taking my time. It should become a little clearer next chapter, if I do as I have planned. (LOL)_

_Enjoy!_

_xx_

_**Disclaimer**: none of the characters, except my own, belong to me. I'm borrowing them to exorcise my writing bug._

* * *

Two days after Christmas saw the coming of yet another snow storm, and of a very frustrated Elizabeth, thwarted in her endeavors to return to Darcy House. She had decided that she would need to enter the mansion, memories of frights in the night easy to discard in the beaming daylight.

As Miss Andrews was doing her hair, something which her mistress rarely allowed her to do, she asked after her health, finding her strangely quiet.

Elizabeth eyed the young girl facing her in the mirror, her big blue eyes inviting her confidences, and she felt that she could trust her maid with her discovery. She promptly related the events of a few days past, finding in Miss Andrews a welcome confidant. Elizabeth did not lessen her frightful experience, nor did she elaborate too much on the strange light she saw, having nothing else but suppositions to offer.

The last hair pin dexterously added to the simple up-do, Miss Andrews took up the opportunity to speak, her mistress having fallen into contemplative silence. It was clear to her that Mrs. Darcy was determined to elucidate this mystery, and, given what she had just told her, it would not do to let her explore on her own again. She had no doubts that she could take care of herself, but another pair of eyes could only help.

And, if she was honest with herself, Julia was excited at the first mention of Darcy House. She had been there a few times as a child, sometimes playing with Georgiana – before their respective parents started to pull the children apart, in the same way they had George Wickham and her master – but never had she heard anything about a mysterious light.

"Ma'am, what if I was to accompany you next time you go to the old house? I could help you look for clues, and we shall see if the light is back on again?"

Elizabeth turned to face her, a grateful expression on her face.

"Would you? Oh, Julia, I would feel so much better having you with me. I might just be imagining things, but still, it would be prudent not to go alone this time."

Miss Andrews nodded quietly, focused on arranging Elizabeth's loose curls around the crown of her head.

"Of course. That is," she said, eyeing the clouds morosely, "if the weather agrees with us."

"Oh, our dear England would not let a mystery such as this go unattended for too long. It is, after all, a land of fairies, ghosts and secrets. She shall help us along, I hope." Julia paused. "Do you suppose it is something more dangerous than harmless amusement Ma'am? If so, perhaps we should ask the master to come along as well? Or at least one of the gentlemen?"

"I do not know for sure, Julia, but for tonight at least, I would like the mystery to be ours alone. Then, if we find anything indicating dodgy scheming, I shall alert my husband. For now, I think, he will be glad to be left at peace amidst his books and estate business."

It did not escape Julia, as she left the room, that a phantom light shining in a house abandoned for the best part of a century _was_ very much a matter of 'estate business'.

* * *

The day passed, and as daylight started to wane, Elizabeth popped her head in her husband's study, informing him of her intention to go on a short walk with Miss Andrews. He shot her a dubious look from above his paper, stating that if she was to look for winter fairies, two pairs of eyes would indeed be of service. He offered to accompany them, but Elizabeth quickly warded off any attempt, pretexting that he must be tired from his ride around the estate visiting tenants. Darcy gladly returned to his affairs, burying his nose in whatever old document he was investigating.

As she closed the door, Elizabeth shook her head fondly. It was no wonder that her father and her husband got along so splendidly: they shared an introspective nature, and were more drawn to books than to people. She resolved to tell him of her discoveries soon, for he would not take kindly to being kept in the dark if scheming there was on his grounds.

Julia was already waiting for her mistress, her outerwear in hand as she helped her to dress. Both had dressed warmly, preparing for bitter cold, but in truth, the evening was rather mild, the sun casting its last rays onto the wintery landscape. Fresh snow crunched under their feet as they walked briskly in direction of Darcy House.

"Ma'am, what did you think of the house the first time you saw it?" Julia asked, breaking silence between them.

"It is quite a melancholic sight, is it not?" Elizabeth said with a small smile. "I think it must have been lovely, in its days, but its location was indeed poorly chosen, at least compared to Pemberley's."

"I believe the woods give it this gloomy charm. I used to be terrified to walk through them at nightfall."

Elizabeth glanced at her companion. She was indeed darting rapid looks around, as if to assure herself that nothing would come out from between the tall trunks. Elizabeth herself had to admit that the lanky shapes of the oaks, bereft of their full foliage, lent a somewhat forlorn aspect to the whole landscape. She herself had never been afraid of woods and forests, but she had to admit that the scenery seemed eerily quiet, the only sound being that of the snow as they walked. Nothing else could be heard, save for their breathing, and the atmosphere hung tight, compressed in their lungs as they blew out billows of mist into the air.

Where had this sudden coolness come from? Why was the forest silent? Surely, birds and other critters must be out and about still, pecking around in search of food?

Interrupting their musings, Darcy House came into full view.

The old mansion was very much as Elizabeth had left it; a very natural thing for ruins which had witnessed the passing of several decades. And yet, precisely because of what was happening in its very walls, she felt that at least some measure of change was in order.

But unchanged it was. Tall, eerie, almost spectral, and very truthfully, altogether unappealing. Night had settled in, the half-moon casting smooth shadows over the eastern walls, running their long limbs across the shattered windows, breaking here and there their fluid course over sharp edges and torn stones.

The trees seemed engaged in a contest of which could reach its gangly branches nearest to the house, some almost touching the walls, others valiantly following. Elizabeth felt Julia draw in a sharp breath beside her, and glanced over at her. The girl was pointing towards one of the upper windows.

There shone the same flickering light, seemingly unaffected by the slight breeze, the only disturbance in the otherwise still landscape.

"Shall we go in?" Elizabeth breathed in a whisper, pointing to what appeared to be the back entrance of the house.

"What if there is someone else in there?" Julia said, her eyes doe-like and huge under the moonlight.

"Then we might very well send them running, don't you think? At any rate, we won't know more if we do not go in."

Her mistress was right, and Julia knew it, but there were several very insistent voices in her head screaming at her to _just turn around already_.

Elizabeth started towards the house, determined to brave the disagreeable impression that had settled in her breast, as well as the fearful voice whispering that they were exactly where the same someone who had followed her three days ago wanted them to be. It was an absurd idea, and yet, she could not push it aside, grabbing Julia's hand as much to steady the girl's breathing as to give herself courage.

The door creaked as she pushed it open carefully, revealing adjoining rooms, which must have been the servants' hall. The faint light of the moon shone on tables that had not been used in decades, vases abandoned where they had last been left, their contents long gone. Chairs stood around the room, their tired legs shivering in the frosty air, fighting the urge to crumble under their own weight in a brave show of strength. Dust flew about as Julia walked into a room which must have once been a kitchen, running her finger along the edge of an empty shelf. The hearth was cold and hollow, hosting only silence. The stone floors shifted underneath them, accompanying their walking in a movement of their own in an eerie dance. It was as if their own steps followed them around, echoing softly in the snowy silence.

The house seemed both dead and alive at the same time, clinging to what warmth it could like a parasite, defying the passing of time that would ultimately bring it to the ground.

_No wonder that the air is so cold here_, Elizabeth thought as she looked towards the empty hearth, _the house itself is dying_.

There was a sense of sadness, as well as dread, when she looked around, noticing objects which had been left lying there a century and a half ago, forgotten by all. The old house, which had once been a home, had seen generations of Darcys, before being cast aside for a younger, larger, and more handsomely located estate.

If she were the house, Elizabeth too would creak in sorrow and regret, longing for times long past, where warmth still filled its empty halls.

Laying a comforting hand against the cold stony wall, Elizabeth attempted to steady herself before ascending the staircase, but also tried to impart what reassurance she could to the abandoned manor.

"Are you sure this is safe, Ma'am?" she heard Julia whisper, eyeing the stairs doubtfully.

"Someone must have gone up to put that light there, and the main entrance is shut underneath tons of gravels, which leaves this as the only point of access to the upper floors. Surely it will not give way beneath us, do not fear."

Elizabeth could not help to think that she too, very much hoped the staircase would bear their weight. She sent a silent prayer to the old house, asking it to welcome them into its embrace, but not to bury them within it forever. In return, she thought, she would try to find it a new purpose, something to prevent its complete passing into distant memory. It was a solemn promise that only the cold stone could hear. And yet, Elizabeth felt that it _had_, and their steps carried them surely upstairs, into a gallery.

Julia pointed towards the source of the light, the second room down on their left, and carefully threaded across the old wooden floor. Elizabeth thanked God that the roof still stood over this part of the house, preventing the wood from rotting to an advanced state. It creaked and moaned pitifully, unused to human presence, but supported them faithfully.

A lone lantern sat behind what remained of the window, sheltered from the winds, flickering about, casting shadows on the walls. Nobody was there, and the air was warmer here, as if the house was invigorated by this newfound source of light. Nothing in the room seemed to have been recently moved: a large bed stood by the wall, its quilts shredded and torn by time, their blueish colour dulled to a gloomy grey.

From the window, Elizabeth could see the lit halls of Pemberley, a reminder both that they should head back soon, and of the wrong suffered by the old house, forced to watch where the great family that built it had retired to.

As if on cue with her somber feelings, the whole house echoed a loud moan, creaking under a sudden surge of wind. The light flickered but did not go off, and dancing shadows played on the wall, reflected on the dirty window pane.

Elizabeth decided it was time to go. She was starting to feel the cold, and it was still another twenty minutes walk back to Pemberley. She could feel the wood creak beneath her, no longer quiet, no longer faithful, as the whole house groaned and whined under their weight. She heard Julia draw in a sharp breath when another lament reverberated through the empty gallery. Elizabeth had the sensation of walking on a living structure, tortured by years of abandon, and hastened outside, pausing only to cast one last look to the imposing manor, before turning back towards Pemberley.

Julia walked briskly by her side, not daring to break the silence of the woods. Her heart was beating wildly in her chest. That house had seen so many things, and yet stood deserted of all presence, except that of its memories. She had only been there as a child, always by daylight, and never inside. Like her mistress, she felt all the forlornness of the place, and was happy to have at least brought some of her warmth to its halls, if only for a short while.

* * *

As Elizabeth and her maid made their way back inside, they silently agreed to talk over what they had experienced once Julia would come to help her undress. They had very little time before dinner and she still needed to change, which was swiftly done affair under Julia's prompt little hands.

At dinner, Elizabeth was ruminating over her evening walk, when she heard Mr. Moore ask her a question.

"Pray tell me, Mrs. Darcy, where did your walk take you to today?"

Caroline Bingley, before her hostess could even answer, made sure to add that evening walks were a most tiresome and imprudent affair, especially for a woman alone _and of her standing_. The pointedness of the accusation was not lost on Elizabeth, who ordinarily delighted in Miss Bingley's schemes. Yet, tonight, she barely found the strength to smile.

"To Darcy House, Mr. Moore. I have been most curious about the place ever since I arrived to Pemberley, but did not feel that walking there on my own would be wise. I asked my maid, Miss Andrews, to come with me," this last remark was, of course, directed at Miss Bingley.

"Oh, I have been there myself during one of my morning rides myself! I would not want to be near that place come the night, it is such a gloomy, sad old mansion."

"Precisely my impression. Miss Andrews and I left soon after…" she hesitated, and decided not to mention they had entered the house, "after we had seen how cold and lonely the place was."

"It is another sight altogether by daylight," Mr. Lockhart said, before eating a bite of his dessert, "I find it quite remarkable, that it should stand so tall and still for so many years."

Elizabeth inclined her head towards the old gentleman.

"I shall make a point of walking there tomorrow afternoon then. I would not want to let prejudices fool me."

This was, of course, pointedly addressed to her husband, who had slipped out of his discussion with Mr. Bingley and Jane to listen to the exchange. He offered a tender smile in response, his deep brown eyes piercing her as he took a sip out of his wine glass.

Elizabeth felt all the dreariness wear off under such a loving gaze, and opted to explore Darcy House more tomorrow, when there was no lantern nor moon to cast mournful shadows across its rooms.

* * *

_I love me some creepy old house, so long as I don't have to get in there myself. _

xx


	8. Chapter 7: Darcy House by Sunlight

_Hi all! I've been MIA (again) but we all have phases. I now have the P&P muse back, and two, if not three chapters planned for the coming two weeks. It's also exam season, so I won't make any promises. This is just a small chapter to start to set the intrigue a little more soundly, in which both Darcy and Elizabeth got to Darcy House. I watched _Snow White_ (1937) the other day and got inspired to write more landscape stuff._

_It's been crazy these past months with the pandemic. Me being a full-time senior Bachelor student, i'm sure you can understand that it's been hard to go back to writing. Can't promise when the next few chapters will be up, but I do promise that they will! And the action is just about to start!_

_Enjoy, and, as always, I don't own the characters, yadee yada..._

* * *

Mr. Lockhart was right: Darcy House by sunlight was a totally different affair from Darcy House by moonlight. The birds were chirping, the air was calm, and Elizabeth could hear the sound of melting ice as it plopped down onto the stony floors. Two of the stalactites hanging from a tall oak's branches were truly impressive, and she carefully avoided the ground below. If yesterday's evening had been mild, today proved to be almost warm.

It was only the 28th of December, but the sky seemed clear of any snow. Elizabeth walked slowly around Darcy House, studying its every brick as if it could tell her what secrets it kept. Unfortunately for her, bricks had never learnt how to talk, and were unlikely to ever do so.

And yet, secret there was, she was sure of it.

It has already been said that Darcy House was an imposing building, its sheer size amounting to almost four Longbourns put together. Maybe five if one counted the stables off by the side. But of course, compared to Pemberley, it seemed insignificant.

The light of the sun reverberated on the puddles of melted ice at the foot of the eastern wall. Winter birds flitted in and out of the house in a light feathery buzz, joyfully calling to each other in their light thrills. The trees were still, as naked as ever, but no longer menacing. Their mangled shapes did not so much remind her of contorted faces now; they did not whisper in the wind, nor did they seem to spy on her every move.

The snow was melting under the harsh glare of the sun, producing a sloshing sound as she walked about, making her way to the back door. It looked as tranquil as it had the day before, except for the welcome rays of sunshine peeping in through the dirty windows. The light flickered on small particles of dust, dislodged by her footsteps, giving the old kitchen a homely look. Everything was bathed in a warm glow, and there was a slightly dewy sheen covering the stone floor. Here and there too, a small puddle or two could be seen, shimmering in the sunlight as if to stretch towards its warmth.

Darcy was about somewhere too, probably inspecting the western side of the house, where most of the damage was. He had offered to accompany her after she'd told him of her intention to go explore Darcy House, just as she was getting up.

_Darcy caught his wife in his arms, making her squeal in surprise. His hands were cold on her skin, and he laughed as he cradled her against him, nuzzling her cheek. _

"_And just where do you think you are going, Mrs. Darcy?" _

_Elizabeth was hard pressed to respond as she felt his hands drift towards a dangerous part of her body. She stalled her husband's purposeful journey downwards, earning herself a pout. _

"_Decidedly not _there_, Fitzwilliam." _

"_Oh, you are a spoilsport."_

"_I am rescuing you from more country gossip. What would our neighbours say if they knew we spent the whole morning in bed?"_

"_That we are the picture of love, and all should aim to emulate us?"_

_She threw him such a look as to silence him on the subject. But upon seeing his disappointed mien, placed a quick kiss on his lips and nose, entreating him to follow her out of bed._

"_Am I not allowed to enjoy my wife's company before…" She laughed heartily at his quiet mumbling, watching him fidget with his shirt's buttons. He reached for the cord to call on his valet, but, once again, she stopped him. She closed each button dexterously, and even straightened his neckcloth, before allowing him to summon his manservant. _

_Once she emerged from her dressing room, she caught on the salacious look he gave her, fully realizing that she'd forgone her stockings just to let him do it. Truly, Elizabeth did not dare to imagine what Julia must think of them. But the girl was by now fully used to the newlyweds' antics, and, although younger than Elizabeth, was no ingenue. _

"_It would truly be a shame if I was to catch a cold this morning, FItzwilliam, wouldn't you agree?" _

_Mr. Darcy was quite at a loss for words. His lovely young wife could be quite the seductress, when she wanted to. Obeying her unspoken command, he kneeled down, deftly adjusting her stockings. _

"_How cruel you are to force me to cover your skin, my love. You know I am much better at _uncovering _it."_

"_Hm, yes, but I plan on walking to Darcy House after breakfast, to follow Mr. Lockhart's advice and see the house by daylight."_

"_Would you like me to accompany you? I have not much planned today, other than some estate business, which I am sure I can finish after luncheon." _

_She kissed him. _

"_Yes, I think I could just about enjoy my dear husband's company."_

And so, here they were. Elizabeth, with her little secret, and Darcy, completely oblivious to this particular piece of "estate business", as Julia liked to put it.

Elizabeth heard scuffling behind her, and, turning back, had just about time to squeal gleefully before her husband swooped her into his arms, carrying her over the threshold of the house.

"Now, my love, you are truly the mistress of the estate." He whispered as he set her down, his warm breath a pleasant reprieve from the chill.

"Why, thank you Sir, but I am afraid I have already graced this hall with my presence." She poked him affectionately on the arm, before saying "Although in much less pleasant circumstances."

She felt him draw back, his hands landing on her waist, as he looked into her eyes.

"What do you mean by that?" His tone held uncertainty, as well as curiosity. His eyes widened slightly, before narrowing. "Does it have to do with the night you came back so late?"

She laughed happily, resting her head on his shoulder.

"Indeed, my love, it has everything to do with _that_ night."

He blushed, something she found immensely endearing. His arms once again tightened around her waist, keeping her close to him.

"Elizabeth, do be serious."

She sighed, knowing it was about time she revealed her little secret to him. She did not think there was anything malicious in the business, but there was definitely something strange and disquieting about a lonely lantern burning in an abandoned house.

"That night, I went on my usual afternoon walk, although perhaps a little later than I would have if not for Jane." She fidgeted, unsure of how to continue. "I walked up until the house, and was resolved to go back, but I saw a light shine in one of the upper storey windows."

At that, he drew back, staring at her with a sharpness that almost made her uneasy.

"I got a little closer, seeing that it was a tall candle, flickering about. The cold was biting, so I did not stay any longer. I was anxious to get back, knowing the hour was late, but Miss Andrews and I came back the next evening and…"

"You went _back_?" He asked, in a volte-face of demeanor unusual even for her temperamental husband. "Without telling me?"

She disengaged herself from him, a little irritated at his curtness. "Yes, I wanted to see if it had only been a fantasy of my own making, before alerting you." He eyed her dubiously, his brown eyes pooling into hers.

Husband and wife stared back at each other, conscious that this was perhaps their first disagreement as a married couple. Darcy could not fathom why she had not told him, seeing how frightened he had been; Elizabeth could not understand why he made such a thing of it. Surely, nothing was amiss, and it was a harmless prank. Either way, she was sure that she had never incurred any real danger.

Obviously, Fitzwilliam held a different notion.

"Elizabeth, you should have told me. It could have been dangerous… It could be dangerous even now!" He said, glancing up at the ceiling.

He led her outside and into the sun, relishing the warmth of its rays. The ice continued to melt, creating puddles and small wells in the snow.

"Fitzwilliam, it was probably only a prank, or a signal between lovers, or something of the like."

He did not seem to hear her, his neck craned to look at the upper windows, muttering to himself. Then, suddenly, something seemed to strike him and he stared back at her in a strange way.

"I will ask Colonel Fitzwilliam to come down with me tonight," and added hastily, before she could speak, "and you are not to come. You will stay at Pemberley. I do not like the sound of it, Lizzie, not one bit. If a signal there is, it is between the house and someone outside."

Darcy had the look of a man bent on seeing a mystery to its logical end. Preferably without involving his curious wife in the process.

That, of course, was not at all to said wife's liking.


	9. Chapter 8: A Scream in the Night

_Hello folks! I hope you're all doing well and staying sane and healthy. Here comes the next installment. I hope you'll forgive me for the cliffhanger, but I promise I'm unkind for a good reason. _

_As always, thank you for all the lovely reviews, especially to those of you who comment regularly. it means a lot to me. _

_Enjoy!_

* * *

Elizabeth made her way upstairs with the disagreeable sensation that something was amiss. The feeling crept up in her breast like a spider weaving its web. The events of the previous nights had worn her out and, judging by Julia's face when she entered the room to help her mistress prepare for the evening, she was tired too.

"Ma'am, I should tell you that there's been talk in the servants' hall downstairs…"

"Oh, what about?"

"The lamp business, ma'am. Apparently, Héloïse, the little house maid, saw it too one night as she was coming up from Lambton."

"She was coming back from the village at this hour? Heavens, what a brave girl!"

Julia smiled sadly.

"Her mother's recently passed, so she's been helping her father as best she can."

"Her mother died? How come I never heard of it? Surely she had time off before getting back to work again?"

"She said she needed the work, Ma'am. We all do."

Elizabeth sat down at her vanity, staring pensively into the mirror. Julia untied her hair, running her fingers through her heavy locks, earning her a contented sigh.

"Of course you do. I'm sorry if this was insensitive."

"Not at all, Ma'am, on the contrary, she'll be pleased to know she's well looked after here. She is very young still."

"We're not so old ourselves, Julia," Elizabeth said jokingly, before marking a short pause, "How old are you, if you don't mind my asking?"

"Eighteen, Ma'am. I'm just a bit older than Miss Georgiana. We played together as children."

"Of course! I remember you telling me. Well, how old is Héloïse?"

"Sixteen, Ma'am. But she seems so much younger."

Elizabeth conjured up the picture of the frail, freckled girl, remembering her bright blue eyes.

"Well, please give her our sympathy. And please tell her she should not hesitate to apply to me, should she need anything. Oh, by the way, if you have no objections, you and I will be escaping again tonight."

Her mistress' smirk could not have made the motive of their escape more evident. She was determined to follow her husband and the Colonel out, despite her husband's objections. This mystery was simply too good to resist.

"Won't that be breaking the master's trust, Ma'am?"

"Don't worry, I'll say I made you come if he threatens you. He won't argue with that."

"What do you make of it, Ma'am? The lamp, I mean."

"Mr. Darcy suggested it might be someone signaling to the house, and I rather agree with him. The question now is, to what purpose?"

Julia had finished arranging her hair, and had picked out her evening dress. The air was cold, clouds gathering at the corner of the horizon, promising snow. Elizabeth decided to save her energy for tonight's expedition, and made for the warmth of the library.

Waiting for dinner to be announced, Jane and Mr. and Mrs. Lockhart soon joined her there, no doubt for similar reasons, though Jane preferred her embroidering to a book. After a quarter of an hour, Mrs. Lockhart began on the subject of conversation which had gone from secret to topic of domestic interest.

"My maid told me of the mystery of the lamp this afternoon. Apparently one of the housemaids saw it. I did not know you'd been keeping this a secret from us, Mrs. Darcy!"

"It's hardly a secret! At any rate, I believe that now that the veil of secrecy has been lifted, whatever mystery remains will soon be gone too."

"Let us hope it is to no malignant avail" Jane said, discarding her project as Mr. Jones announced dinner.

"Or worse, criminal. That would _definitely_ make for the talk of the town."

The disagreeable feeling returned, nestling in Elizabeth's stomach. She felt nervous, not least because of her evening plans. She disliked disobeying Fitzwilliam, but even he could not argue that, as she had been the one to discover the light's existence in the first place, she deserved to see the mystery to its conclusion. If conclusion there was. He would probably see the whole business in a different light, preferring for his wife to be _acquainted_ with said conclusion, rather than find it out by herself.

Too bad.

* * *

Dinner was a swift affair. The whole table wanted to speak of only one topic, but the taciturn mien of their host discouraged them from enquiring further on the topic. Mr. Darcy was none too pleased that such events had been taking place on his estate without his knowledge.

He had made his cousin, Colonel Fitzwilliam, privy to the matter as soon as they had returned from their outing earlier today. He too was concerned. That anyone would risk the dangerously unstable floor of the old mansion to place a lamp by the windowsill, with no other aim than an amorous pursuit, seemed rather odd. And if it was something less benign than romance, then the men would have to find out what it was.

Of course, men are too easily manipulated into thinking that their wives will sit quietly at home, letting them have all the fun.

That was without counting Elizabeth Darcy. Just as her husband and his cousin were setting out, once the party had broken up after an hour in the drawing room, she ran upstairs and rang for Julia.

The maid appeared, ready to head out, her mistress' coat, gloves and scarf at the ready.

* * *

Darcy and the Colonel walked silently through the woods. They avoided the main road, preferring the hidden paths of these woods the knew well. The thick cushion of fresh snow squeaked under their boots, but the noise was lost amongst the rising wind. The breeze was freezing, the moon shining brightly and lighting their path. The hush-hush of the swaying trees helped the two men to relax.

Neither ventured to conjecture aloud on what this business was truly about, but both knew that something was amiss. As far as they knew, no one had even set foot in that house for years, except perhaps as a prank. And even then, the village children generally avoided it, warned of ghosts and wobbling floor planks. They too, as boys, had never dared enter it; only circle around it trying to spot one of those specters.

That his wife had, seemingly without hesitation, walked right in and gone upstairs to investigate what could be very dangerous business, had Fitzwilliam Darcy absolutely flabbergasted. That was a feeling he still had to get used to.

A crack in the trees behind them caused them both to turn, scanning the woods. They could see nothing, and carried on, one hand on their sword, the other buried in their pocket, wrapped around their gun. One could never be too careful walking about the woods at night.

* * *

When she saw the gentlemen turn, Elizabeth ducked behind a grove of trees, Julia crouching behind her. They held their breaths, lest the swirls of steam gave their position away.

They had been trekking behind the men, keeping their distance. Julia hated the woods at night, and Elizabeth fully understood why. But she also knew how familiar her husband and the Colonel were with them, and was much less scared than she had been the two previous nights.

When at last they made it to Darcy House, a rather unwelcome surprise awaited them there.

There was no sign of the light. The window it normally sat on stood steeped in darkness, like a gaping hole in the facade of the building.

"Perhaps the wind has extinguished it?" Elizabeth heard Julia whisper.

The cold was only getting worse. Elizabeth watched as her husband and Colonel Fitzwilliam crouched down, refusing to leave the cover of the woods, obviously deliberating what to do next. They did not know enough to risk going forward. If there was foul play, it would either cause the perpetrator to attack of flee, both of which highly undesirable outcomes.

A hundred yards or so behind them, the women were reaching much the same conclusions. In their case, they would have to turn back well before the men, and enter through the back door, unnoticed, so that Elizabeth would have time to run upstairs and get changed.

With one look at Julia, seeing that the situation was quite hopeless, they both turned back. Elizabeth felt the uneasy feeling return, her surroundings and the late hour adding to her discomfort.

She looked back. The men were still standing there, staring at the house. She did not wish to leave Fitzwilliam here. She would much rather he caught her than anything happened to him and his cousin. She had to remind herself to trust him and his instinct, when Julia stopped dead in her tracks.

She stood, on high alert, her eyes fixed on a spot amongst the trees.

"I saw someone, Ma'am. I swear to God, I saw someone hide behind that tree."

Elizabeth's heart was beating wildly, her hair fluttering about her forehead. the wind was hissing. The atmosphere had grown tense. The forest seemed to come alive.

"Come now, Julia, we have to go back. Let's move on the main road, swiftly now."

Taking off in almost a dead run, both mistress and maid made their way across the snowy landscape, fearing to cast even one look behind them. The horrible feeling of being watched; that someone was creeping up on her from behind was plaguing Elizabeth.

With a sigh of relief, the lights of the big house shining bright up ahead returned some warmth to her veins. Julia let out a breathy moan as they reached the back door, getting in and shutting the door behind them immediately. Julia shivered, taking off her coat.

"Ma'am, I may love mysteries, but I am _never_ doing this again."

* * *

Back in the woods, Mr. Darcy and his cousin were making their way up the road. Seeing that there was no lamp, they had preferred to take the easiest way back home. Although both knew the woods well, they felt, rather than knew, that someone had disrupted it. Something had happened, or was about to happen, and only the trees knew what.

Mr. Darcy turned quite a few times to look over his shoulder, certain that he caught the shadow of something ducking behind a tree. After the third time, his cousin glared at him under his hat.

"Stop it. You're making me nervous."

"There is someone out there, Richard. I know there is."

"Yes, well, I'm not going after him tonight. He'll wait for the morning, thank you very much."

"But don't you feel it?"

"What?"

"The… the disquiet. The tension. Something's happened, Richard. I swear something has, or is about to."

"I know. I sense it too, and I dare say your lovely wife sensed it as well, or else she would not have fled back to the house that quickly."

"Pardon?"

"Fitz, as an army man, I make it my business to know when I'm being followed. And she was _definitely_ following us. Her and her maid, Miss Andrews. Quite the faithful little thing."

Darcy gritted his teeth, anger and fear overtaking him. What was Elizabeth thinking? Going out there in the night when he had expressly forbidden it!

"Don't be angry. She's curious, and adventurous, and it's what you like about her. Besides, she found out the whole thing to begin with. She's got the right to see it through."

"I'm afraid she and I disagree on the method rather than the reason."

* * *

When her husband knocked on her door, Elizabeth knew immediately he'd found her out.

He never knocked, which meant he was steeling himself for what was likely to be a lively conversation. She sighed, strangely happy that they were having it now, and beckoned him in.

"I suppose you know why I am here," he said, standing in the doorway.

"I do. And before you begin, I will only say this. I can't stand by idly and let you go out in the night, with only Colonel Fitzwilliam as your ally, into something you have yourself said might be dangerous. If you want to protect me, you must allow me the same liberty."

Her speech, far from fueling his anger, only made him more aware of her worth. That she was brave, he had no doubt. What lady would follow her husband in the dead of night into such an unpleasant situation?

"But," she went on, "I will also own that I was curious and wanted the whole thing seen to. I hate second hand accounts, they're so edited that you lose half the story."

Darcy's generous laugh at her admission surprised her. She had expected him to be cross, even angry, and here he was, laughing at her disobedience. It was almost insulting.

"My darling, as I said to my cousin, I have no qualms with your reasoning, only with your approach." He came forward to embrace her, wrapping her in the security of his arms. "There _was_ someone lurking out there, Elizabeth. I couldn't tell you if my imagination made him up, or if he was true, but I'm ready to bet it is."

"I know. I felt it too."

She buried her nose in his neck, quieting her heartbeats in his minty scent.

"I felt as if someone was following me. It was the exact same feeling I had the first night after I went there, when I came home later than usual."

"It can't be innocent. it simply can't. Tomorrow, I'll go up to the village to let the constables and magistrates know. If anything happens, they'll be glad of early warning."

"Of course, you must. But promise me this. Do not go out there alone." She saw the look on his face and shook her head, smirking. "I know you asked the same of me, and I promise I shall keep to it if you do the same."

"I understand, my love, but this must be seen through. And, as master of this estate, I can't sit it out."

"No, but let the constables do their work out there at night. They know what they're doing better than you, and know those woods just as well."

She nuzzled his neck.

"Besides, we've got guests to entertain, and I fear we have let them down so far."

* * *

The midnight hours had come and gone, the house slept only fitfully; the howling wind did not allow for much rest.

In the distance, a light shone brightly at the upper windows of Darcy House. Whomever was out there had not been taken for a fool, and the signal was back on as soon as danger of discovery was avoided.

Suddenly, in the early morning hours, a piercing scream tore through the night, echoing in the woods.

* * *

_Oops. Guess you'll just have to wait to see who's the unlucky soul. Quite possibly a hard chapter to write, because it's exactly the kind of situation i would rather die than find myself into. Mysteries are best left for someone else to elucidate, in my humble opinion. I wouldn't make a very convincing Elizabeth. _


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